Thursday, April 30, 2009

See now, I wasn't even going to say anything about this swine flu madness. 'Cause as far as I'm concerned there's some new fangled Killer African Bee, SARS, Cow-Foot-Head disease popping up on CNN just about every six months or so...

And between you and me, I think that if certain folks would learn how to cover their mouths and use a little hand disinfectant, half of these problems would be solved. But that's just my humble opinion.

But THEN I read this article in the NYTimes that set off my spidey senses. It basically details how experts are now trying to blame the whole health crisis on this poor little 5 year-old Mexican boy. Talking bout, "The government has identified Édgar Hernadez as the first person in Mexico to have become infected with a virulent strain of the swine flu." Seriously?

Not for nothing, but doesn't this sound very much like the whole- AIDS started in Africa from people who were having sex with monkeys hypothesis? Yeah, thought so. $50 bucks says the Mexican government just needed someone to throw under the bus to keep the World Health Organization off their backs. So naturally, they choose the lowest common denominator- a poor, illiterate family and their kid. So. Not. Cool.

You look at the picture and do the math. Err-um, keep it real. We ALL know where this pandemic really, really started...

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

So this past week, the washer/ dryer at the boy's house ate my favorite pair of jeans.

I'm not saying it was his fault of anything like that BUT... my jeans were just fine when I put them in them in his machine. Then lo and behold, when the cycle ended and I started to fold the clothes, there's a big ass hole under the left back pocket!! Insert image of my mouth dropping wide open in shock like an idiotic cartoon character.

Forget how much the silly thing cost, I worked SO HARD to get those jeans to fit my booty the way I wanted!!! Those were my 'get-'em-girl/ it's-ya-birthday' jeans... sniffle, sniffle. What I'mma supposed to do now??

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I KNEW I should've stayed my vain self at home on Sunday night, enjoyed the unseasonable warm weather and minded my bid-ness. But NO. There I go, worrying about this godforsaken bridesmaid dress that I have to squeeze my ass into in exactly 23 days... and I decide to drag my butt to a 6.30p bikram class.

Well wait on it... don't you know some worthless ass heifer STOLE my damn flip-flops from the friggin' studio??

Uh-huh, you read that right: Just like hilarious episode of Sex And The City, where Carrie grudgingly goes to the baby shower and her gorgeous pair of silver Manolo Blahniks get ganked, my BRAND NEW black flip-flops were G-O-N-E.

(Insert image of me doing the most not to lose my shit on all the hippy ass pink toes standing around at the moment of discovery talking about, 'are you sure you wore them here? Did you look carefully? Oh, I'm sure it was just an innocent mistake.')

Innocent mistake my ass! I even waited until every last person had come to retrieve their shoes- just to see what was left (and quietly, still hoping the person might return with my shoes) Well, guess what? There wasn't ONE pair of shoes left. NOTHING. NADA. Translation: that dirty mo-fo took theirs AND mine.

OMG, who does that? Sure its a recession, times are hard but MY GOD. Who steals flip-flops in 2009??

But Jesus be a neurotic black woman and her shower shoes... because despite all the side-eye that I catch for wearing flip-flops in the communal shower stall(apparently, they encourage folks to go barefoot to reduce the amount of outside dirt), at least my ass had something to wear go home.

Otherwise, picture me stepping out onto 145th Street barefoot!!! Shiiiiitttt! No maam, not even on a damn dare...

Friday, April 24, 2009

The sun is shining, the forecast is in the 80s, the toes are done and my ass is inside cleaning a bathroom. Uh-uh, this don't make no kinda sense. And THEN, after I finish scrubbing the toilet and tub, I still gotta put away laundry and go grocery shopping. What in the in unsexy in the city hell??

I'm telling you right now, I wasn't born to live like this. Clearly the stork got confused and forgot to drop me off at Oprah's house. 'Cause no offense Els but you know the Big O is my forreal, forreal birth mother, right?

Fine, fine leave me to my delusional daydreams if you want. But please believe, when Oprah does show up and whisks me away to the big house to kick it with Barack and Michelle, ya'll non-believers ain't even getting a tweet outta me!

Thursday, April 23, 2009

How excited are we that the FDA is making the morning after pill available to 17 year-olds sans parental consent? Can we say, one less after school special? I know that Obama is busy saving the free world all day everyday but its the little stuff, like the overturning of this ridiculous rule that makes me heart the hell out of that man. Okay?

Speaking of birth control, a while ago-when I was debating switching up my method- I polled you guys about what was the preferred method of contraceptive. Just to see what everybody else was doing and if anything crucial had changed... Um yeah, not so much:

For 45%, the answer is still condoms. 30% said the pill. 12% are now using the Ring. And there's still that adventurous (if you want to call it that) 12% who are rolling the dice with the rhythm method.

I'm not ashamed to say, I was and still remain with the 45% condom users. I guess my nerves are just too bad. I need to see the peen all wrapped up before I feel completely comfortable getting my swerve on. And what with the resurgence of old school, Woodstock-esque STDs like gonorrhea, chlamydia and syphilis? Uh-uh, I'd rather not have to explain to Dr. Greene what had happened after all the lectures she's delivered about safe sex during my annual check-up.

I've thought long and hard about the pill. I mean with all the new options, who wouldn't like to have a period every 3 months or possibly not at all? But at 33, it just seems a little late to be jumping on this band wagon. I mean, I want to at least pretend like I'm going to get married and knocked up by the age of 36 (got to speak it into being, right?). Not to mention, who can really afford to gain the extra pounds, acne or facial hair? It's hard enough out here for a girl as it is without having to do battle with hairs on my chest or hanging from my chinny-chin chin.

Got to say, I've heard mixed reviews about the ring. On one hand I have a homegirl who SWEARS by it. and then I've heard that it can get moved around... Which in addition to being annoying, wouldn't abode well for me and the type of guys I prefer to have relations with (uh-huh, you do the math). Not to mention, like the pill there's that whole hormone thingy. Call me vain but I work damn hard for the basic results. Mama don't want no extra work, thank you very much.

Oh and as for the rhythm? Until there's a ring on it AND contracts signed, I won't know nothing about this one right here. Lord knows, my heart can't take it when the period is late and I know I don't have anything to worry about. Can you imagine? I'd be living in a perpetual state of fear. Running to the bathroom every five minutes like I was a80 year old woman with a bladder control issue. Hilarious.

Like seriously? Picture this frazzled white woman (see photo), pulling over to the side of the road in her expensive ass SUV/car and screaming at the top of her lungs- "BOTH OF YA'LL LIL' GOOD-FOR-NUTHIN' HEIFERS GET THE HELL OUTTA MY CAR!!!"

OMG, I can't even breathe I'm laughing so hard right now. Bump that, I'm WHEEZING like a damn asthmatic!!! Cause you know, that right there is some end-of-the-line, to-hell-with-timeout, I'm-kickin'-you-out -I-don't-kill-ya'll-dead type ish!

Wait on it tho... While the 12 year-old was able to run, catch up with mom's car at the next light and beg her way back in; not so much for the little sister. That one got left behind

But instead of carrying her ass home (like any halfway intelligent Black kid would've done), the 10 year-old went dry snitching to the cops. And when Ma-Dukes came to pick her up from the station, the po-po arrested that ass for endangering the welfare of a child.

Considering how flawed modern day society's moral compass has become, it must be extremely difficult to spread the Good Word. In all fairness, preachers pastors, priests, nuns and all members of the clergy probably do twice as much just to make half the impact. But err-um, not for nothing does it really take a $600K compensation package to get the job done? Really?

Apparently the new senior pastor at Riverside Church thinks so. And it turns out, as of this Sunday the good Pastor Braxton will be receiving:

-$250,000 in salary.-$11,500 monthly housing allowance.-Private school tuition for his child.-A full-time maid.-Entertainment, travel and "professional development" allowances.-Pension and life insurance benefits.-An equity allowance for him to save up to buy a home.

Far be it from me to judge who Jesus selects to be his shepard but I'm just saying- $250K base salary? A full time maid? Entertainment and travel allowance? In the midst of a global recession? Shouldn't his ass be home, sitting still, reading the Bible looking for a sign?

Uh-uh, something just ain't clean in the milk.

For this amount of money, I fully expect to hear about miracles popping off every single week. And not no play-play miracles either! I want reports of cripples walking, the blind being able to see and bigger than all that; good-looking, college-educated, SINGLE black men filling up the pews like it's front row seats at a Jay-Z concert. Can I get an amen?

'Cause as far as I'm concerned, the moment Pastor Braxton starts turning water into $20 bills, is the only day he should receive a $600k package for doing the Lord's work. Till then, I'm gonna have to pray on it.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I hate the first day of my period. Okay, perhaps hate is a strong word. Let me rephrase that: I really dislike the first day of my period.

Every single time without fail, I'll wake up on said morning with the starving African orphan-esque bloated belly, killer lower back pain and feeling extra extra evil. Like it's so not a game for those initial minutes after the wake-up. All the way up until I finally figure that 'duh, I got my period! That's what all the drama and confusion is about!!'

Thankfully, I generally wake up alone. So, time permitting, I'll promptly proceed to lay around in the bed, tossing from side to side, feeling sorry for myself and watching things that make me cry like Steel Magnolias/ the Christian the Lion youtube video for about half a day or at least until I remember those times when the period was late... 'Cause please believe, nothing makes a woman pull it together and be grateful for a little cramp more than the memory of the times you had to commence the prayer circle and send the bloodhounds out to find it.

Uh-huh... Jesus be the 25th day.

But wait on it... so this morning before I could even get in a good hour of the whole 'woah is Mitzi on her period', I noticed an online article about a white woman in England who's allergic to WATER. Can you imagine? Apparently Michaela Dutton has a rare allergy to water called aquagenic urticaria. Therefore anytime her skin gets wet, she breaks out in a painful rash!! YIKES!

Mind you, the post is 100% PC and solely focuses on the fact that this poor woman can't even hold her own son because his sweat hurts her so much. Which I will definitely agree, is a heartbreaking issue. But you wanna know what I think is really, really the most tragic aspect of this situation? This woman CAN'T BATHE. For her entire life, she's just been STINK.

I mean think about it. How can she possible take a shower? EVER? She busy talking about "people don't come around anymore because they think I'm contagious." No my dear, folks don't come around cause you SMELL. I can't.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Now that the weather is attempting to warm up and we're in the final stretch of whatever damage control folks will actually accomplish before open-toe season begins, it's time to deal with the least appealing aspect of the change of season: the new bikini dilemma.

Uuuggh, can I tell you? I ABHORE (yes, breaking out the big GRE words folks) shopping for new bathing suits. Like, seriously? I can by new tanks tops, sundresses and sandals all day every day, but say the word two-piece and I literally wanna throw-up in my mouth. And it doesn't matter how much I physically or mentally prepare, trying to find a swimsuit that can simultaneously hide all the lumps and bumps yet still qualify as sexy is like water torture.

Honestly, I think the root of problem is that every year, my overall body shape changes- sometimes for the better, most times not. Therefore, the hella cute string bikini style that might've been the answer last season, looks nothing but cra-razy this time around. And please, don't even get me started on those damn boy short bottoms that cut dead in the middle of the saddle bag? No maam, nobody needs that AT ALL.

And call me cheap but the thought of spending damn near a $150 of bullshit sized piece of material that's only going to hightlight the areas of my body that I'm most insecure about is beyond painful.

So if you see me walking out of Bloomies looking dazed and confused ike I someone just kicked me in the neck, you know what the deal is. There's nothing to say, just pray.

And wait on it...A TV version of the ad shows the strapping cowboy and the pint-sized Mexican wrestler -- nicknamed "Just a Little Bit" -- living together as roommates. At one point, the American lifts up the Mexican to help him put a trophy on a high shelf.

Granted, this whole campaign will never hit the states or Mexico for that matter. It ran exclusively in Europe. Guess, they thought non of the Nordic folks would object, huh? (Insert razor sharp side-eye)

But all tomfoolery aside... Did it never occur to any of the gringos that green lit this blatantly racist idea that Mexicans (shoot, all native Spanish people) might be a teeny, weeny upset? No? Not even a little pause for concern? Yeah, didn't think so.

And now, on the other side of the country, the patron saint of poor white trash Gov. Sarah Palin is catching a bad one back in Alaska. In addition to the ongoing public fighting with a freaking 19 year-old kid just cause he knocked up your fast ass daughter and left her and the baby high and dry to do appearances on Tyra; apparently her fellow lawmakers aren't feeling her new ambitious attitude at all. Um, you giving speeches in Indiana while folks is trapped in Juneau trying to balance the state's budget?? No maam. Them rednecks ain't having it. In response, they've stripped a bunch of her little pet projects like the natural gas pipeline from the proposed Senate budget and started talked junk to whoever will listen. Uh-huh, just like that....

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

I really, really meant to wake up at 6 am this morning, go to bikram, return home and post something profound from a place of spiritual enlightenment and THEN go to my taping for the Food Network. But alas, the road to hell is built on good intentions. And now there are exactly 40 minutes left till I have to walk out the door, I ain't dressed, the hair looks crazy, the dog ain't walked and I've got absolutely nothing enlightening to share. Sigh.

Light a candle, I already see what kinda day this is gonna be. Feel free to follow me on twitter to find out for yourself...

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Sometimes I worry that folks really don't appreciate how much skill it takes to be a proficient procrastinator. Mmm-hmm, say it with me- proficient procrastinator. You know, as in having the ability to look extremely busy while accomplishing absolutely nothing of consequence.

As a self-proclaimed connoisseur of this art, I am constantly on the look out for new and improved time wasters: reading ridiculous celeb blogs, updating on Twitter, figuring out how to use the Garage Band application and but of course, Facebook.

Ah Facebook. Next to taking Drama for a long walk on a sunny day, that right there is my most favoritest of all the time wasters. I mean, seriously? Who needs to write a book proposal or hook up the new printer when I can spend all day catching up with people I haven't thought about since 8th grade? Oh let's not forget the god awful party pictures from the opening of a sardine can that you and the crew attended last month??? The BEST.

But sometimes, things on FB can get a little tricky. Especially when it comes to the friend request department... Lord knows that everyone doesn't need access to all the personal messages that are being left on the Wall or worse, the candid shots from last summer's trip to the Vineyard. Can I get an amen?

So lemme ask you this, what would you do if an ex from a nasty break-up tried to reconnect and become friends through FB?

According to the poll you took many eons ago, 21% would 'try to be the bigger person' and accept the request. 6% would accept to save face and then delete immediately afterwards. While a whopping 71% said you would straight ignore and never respond.

If you know anything about me, you know I'm so rolling with the majority on this one. Ain't no need to be faking like we cool when we aren't. You know what you did, I know what I did, now Keep It Moving Shorty. I don't want you all up in my business and I damn sure don't care about yours.

And while I understand the political correctness of initially accepting and then deleting, I just don't care enough. It takes a lot of negative energy to have a messy break-up nowadays. So if our situation was crazy, LEAVE ME ALONE. So what if you're fat and married with five kids. God bless home girl's heart, she's a better woman than me.

In fact, I'm willing to bet that the forreal, forreal reason the 21% of you are so willing to accept the request is just so you can be Facebook spying on folks. Checking for recent pics and to see whether or not he got married before you did. Man, listen. How Jay-Z put it? Oh yeah, what you eat don't make me shit.

Monday, April 13, 2009

My God, do you remember that unfortunate period of time when flashing the strings of a thong over your super, super low rise jeans was considered a bold fashion statement? You know, right around the time folks actually believed that Sisqo from Dru Hill was anything but 1-800-ON-FIRE? Uh-huh, we sure have lived through some Dark Ages my friends...

Friday, April 10, 2009

Probably the only good thing about Spring's reluctant return is that it's given us a couple more weeks before open-toe season begins. While the Lord knows how excited I am to chuck those heavy ass Gortex snow boots to the back of my closet, mama's monthly budget is so not looking forward to the weekly cost of the mandatory mani/ pedi. Okay?

Which led me to recall yet another long lost poll question that I never discussed: What takes priority- bikini area or fresh mani/ pedi? (See, it might take a while, but I always get it in.)

74% said that fingers and toes are most important because they're the thing that everyone sees. While 25% went with the bikini area because its the area the most important people see, no?

Hmmm, this was a tough one. But personally, I think I'm rocking with the minority. Oh and it has absolutely nothing to do with who is or isn't lucky enough to get up close and personal, thank you very much. Nope, there's just too much riding on a well groomed bikini area.

I mean there's the obvious- appearance. Talk about a pretty panty killer. Nothing says, 'vomit in your mouth' more than the chick in the gym locker room strolling around with TUFTS of pubs poking around the side of her drawers. Listen here honey, I don't give a good goddamn how much you paid for that La Perla set. If you've got a bush situation, its a wrap.

And then you already know my forreal, forreal pet peeve- smell. Don't you think it's hard enough to stay fresh and clean when the outside temperature rises? Why add a handful of hair to the mix? All up in the crease of your leg and butt cheeks? Uuugh, call me neurotic but I can't.

So yes, stepping out with the butter soft heels and fresh to death polish job is an important part of your personal appearance (otherwise, I wouldn't be looking for quarters in the back of my couch to add to the pretty toes trust fund). But please believe, my priority is to keep it tight behind the scenes. Because when I put my undies on one leg at a time, everything needs to fit inside.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

No matter the time of the day, whenever I walk in there are at least 25 smelly people waiting in line and only two dusty ass service windows open. Talking about they're sorry for the long wait but the branch is severely understaffed.

Bump that! We can ALL see the five random employees milling around behind the 1000 year-old teller doing a whole lot of NOTHING. Why don't you go tell Maria and Jose to stop eating the arroz con pollo and come do something?? DAMMIT!

Not for nothing, I thought you had to at least have a GED to work for the US government? Am I right? So what's the problem? Why is something so simple as choosing to pay for the stamps with my American Express card seem like I'm asking you to go through Armageddon??

Apparently Derrick Munoz and his girlfriend were reclining in some leather massage chairs when 'ole girl landed dead on his head and knocked him THE FUCK OUT. Mmm-hmmm... And you know Jesus got jokes when the sign on the back of the chair said, "Sit back and relax."

Not SIT BACK and RELAX!!!

OK, on the forreal, forreal, who does something like this? Who jumps over the banister in a crowded mall? And from the 3rd floor? Come on now ma, you weren't even going hard. I know you know somebody with a balcony on the top floor of one of those 30-story project housing buildings. If it's your last statement, why not make it count? Sigh, unbelievable.

Thankfully, poor Derrick finally regained consciousness in the ambulance en route to the hospital. And aside from a large gash on his head there were no other visible signs of injury.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Okay so just when I thought it was going to be a quiet day in the headlines, I peeped this article about a deranged FL mother shooting her own kid to death because wait on it... the looney toon honestly believed she was Satan. And that by murdering her child, she was 'saving his soul.' Um yeah, write that down.

Apparently, 44 year-old Marie Moore took her 20 year-old son to a shooting range, waited for him to get settled in the practice range booth and then proceeded to blow the back of his head off.

Check out the above photo that was captured on the security camera... Just. Like. That.

Now here's my main problem with this madness-cause there are just so many things wrong- this chick had a history of schizophrenia. And apparently, she had tried to kill herself in the shooting range before. Why in the slack-ass-FL-state-gun-law-hell was this nutjob allowed back up in the spot???

I swear, it's like nowadays they got tighter security in a damn mall department store than a shooting range. Sigh.

Jesus please ring the bell, we need to stage an immediate do-over on that one right there.

78% of you said that it reduces your stage fright while 21% insist it only made your nerves bad. Interesting.

Personally, I'm neutral on this one. I can leave or take the porn- it does absolutely nada for the kid. If anything, I think I find it so outrageously staged that it becomes laughable. Sure having a penis pounding in your ear and another simultaneously in your butt is a turn-on, sure it is. Insert image of my patented blank stare with exactly three blinks.

In spirit of full disclosure- Im pretty sure my mental 'block' on the virtues and pleasures of porn has everything to do with the trifling first experience I had back in the day. Let me tell you what had happened-

For whatever reason, the second dude I ever tried to have sex with could not for the life of him stay hard. It was so tragic. Mind you, if his pants were on then we were all good. But as soon as he started to get undressed and I could actually look AT the penis (and you know my STD paranoid behind insisted on looking), it'd shrivel right up. Uh-huh, you do the math.

Needless to say, by the third attempt to disrobe, I was 1-800-D-O-N-E. On some, "I don't know what's going on with YOU and THAT but as for me, I'm finished here" type ish. In response this fool, grabs me by the arm and is like, "wait, wait, don't get dressed! I know what it it is! I just need to see some porn. Do you have any magazine or tapes?" Um, EXCUSE YOU???

Shoot, it's bad enough I was all up in my mother's house acting too grown for the road and then you wanna ask somebody to play you a dirty movie?? Negro is you CRAZY??? Trust, that fool barely finished getting dressed before I put that ass the hell out. Kick rocks!

Sigh, and ever since then, I've givin' porn the real side-eye. I'm not mad, if it's your thing. But on GP (general principle) I just can't get worked up about it. Period.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

One of the most difficult aspects of being an adult is knowing when to say when and put yourself on time out.

No, I'm talking about that last shot of tequila or walking away from the $900 pair of sparkly Louboutins. Nope, not that.

I'm talking when that first tickling in the back of your throat happens. And you're sneezing every five minutes for no good reason. It's at those moments that you inherently know that you really, really need to pass up on dinner with the crew but since you haven't seen them in 'oh-so-long'... Sigh.

When I woke up on Saturday, I KNEW I should've stayed my light-headed butt in bed and minded my business. But no sir, there I was trying to be Superwoman. Finishing up my confounded taxes, going shopping and hitting up not one but two birthday parties in a single bound. Mmm-hmm, just like that. Crazy.

So now I'm sitting here with a pounding headache, sucking spit (cause of course, there ain't healthy grocery the first up in the fridge.). I honestly keep trying to get up and be productive but something about the bile in the back of my throat just makes that seem like a really bad idea. Sigh. I am so over myself right now.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Instead of getting my butt up and working on the never ending pile of receipts that need to be added up before my Sunday afternoon appointment with my new tax preparer, my dumb ass decided to attempt to groom my dog.

Mind you, Drama is not, I repeat, is NOT a small DOG. The only time she was light enough for me to carry her was the very first week she came to live with me. And I swear, after those first 7 days, I was like uh-uh you gots to sit your big ass on the floor. So now, at almost 12 years old, the last thing her sleep-fart-eat behind wants to do is hold still while I fumble around with some pathetic little brush. Okay?

But I was determined to be economically conscience and save myself the $90 by brushing/ bathing her myself. I mean, in these tight times every little bit counts right?

Okay so, I'm an idiot.

After two whole hours of brushing and begging her to stay still (cause she may not run but she certainly will lay the hell down) and brushing, my white tile kitchen floor looks like a black shag carpet. The airborne pet danger is making me wheeze like a dying asthmatic. And worse of all, that fat hooker still stinks. Sigh. I'm done. the rest of my day will now be spent cleaning up the huge mess I've just created.

So all in one HOTLANTA-fied week, I've been written up in not one but TWO really amazing blogs! Aww suckey-suckey now...

The first posted yesterday on IN HER SHOES, a fast tracked blog that's dedicated to-and I quote- "Showcasing some of the most driven, talented, inspiring and let's not forget, flyest female entrepreneurs on the planet." Whew! Ain't that a mouthful? We LOVE. Check out that feature HERE.

The second is a cute lil' Q&A that just hit the internet this morning. That's actually on and popping at THE B-LIFE. Which for those who are totally out of the loop, is for and about those who choose to indulge in the best life in NYC and beyond has to offer. Get into it. Feel free to check that out HERE.

And as soon as you finish reading, take all that warm and fuzzy energy and go buy my new book HERE. This way, they'll have a good reason to continue writing about me!

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Just yesterday my girl Joan brought up an ongoing conversation we've been sharing about the increasing number of 'crimes of desperation' occurring around the country ever since our economy jumped on the little red wagon to hell. You know, like daytime bank robberies, purse snatchings, rich folks in S.C sinking their sailboats for the insurance money, etc.

Note to the NYC area weather: it is officially spring. So cut the crap and cue the sun.

I am sick of looking out my window at the gray skies and chilly weather. This misty rain b.s that you're carrying on with is working my nerves. I've had nothing but frizzy, unfortunate looking hair days for so long, I've lost track of time. And not for nothing, I don't want to wear my full length down coat not one more time.

Okay party people, you know what the deal is... time to put your money where your mouth is and show your homegirl some love. Please take a friend and go buy your copies of WHAT GOES AROUND, not now but right now.

And for those who simply don't have time to stop by a Barnes & Noble, books-A-Million, Daltons or Borders, then by all means, feel free to click your way over to amazon.com and purchase it online.

And not for nothing, it's still being sold at the recession-friendly price of $9.99. So be sure to cop a copy or two or ten.... I'm just saying.